


Mail Order Daddy

by stratumgermanitivum



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Ageplay, Daddy Kink, Discipline, Eventual Sex, Humiliation, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Graham Hates Himself, internalized kinkshaming, kinkshaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2020-08-13 06:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20169847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum
Summary: "It's called ageplay," an ex-girlfriend had explained to him. That relationship had not worked out, but Will had never forgotten it. Especially alone, at night, staring up at the ceiling and not sleeping.Will found the website by chance, and had to get himself incredibly drunk before he could properly look at it. Who ordered aDaddyoff the internet? Who could possibly be that starved for attention, that inept at social situations? Who could possiblyneedsomeone so badly?Will Graham, apparently.





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s called ageplay,” an ex-girlfriend had explained to him. And it had been… _fine_, cuddling her and brushing her hair, serving PB&J in front of a colorful show about horses. Fine, nothing less, and nothing more. It didn’t reach into that empty place in Will, like she said it did for her. He found nothing satisfying or gratifying about it, it just wasn’t his thing. And that was alright; he’d learned how to play the parts lovers needed of him.

It took three months, a breakup, and an _intense_ wet dream for Will to figure out exactly what had been wrong, but by that point, he had already concluded that relationships were not meant for him. He did better on his own. He bought a coloring book and a dog that liked to be held and tried not to think about it too much.

Will thought about it too much, anyway. He was lonely, teaching a largely useless class of future FBI agents, spending hours looking over dead bodies with Jack Crawford. Sometimes he came home, and his skin just _crawled_. Some time with the toys occasionally helped, but what _really_ helped was whiskey. Whiskey could numb the itch, the need, the loneliness. Whiskey could put him to sleep when everything else kept him up.

Whiskey, however, also made him drunk and stupid. Will spent large amounts of time on his laptop, drunkenly searching through ‘little space’ blogs and YouTube videos of cartoons he only vaguely remembered from his severely lacking childhood.

The website had been a paid sponsor on one of Will’s favorite blogs. It came with fantastic reviews, almost too good to be true. Mailorderdaddy.com came with glowing testimonials, and a very long list of conditions for sign-up that basically boiled down to ‘sexual intercourse not included,’ because of course, sex work was still illegal in most of the United States. Will didn’t really care. It wasn’t sexual for him. It could be, certainly, and there’d been many more intimate dreams after the first one, but ultimately what Will craved was a different kind of release.

_Do you yearn for care? Do you need someone to take you in hand? To help you reorganize your stressful life?_

God, yes. Will’s mouth was watering. But that might have been thirst. He took another swig off whiskey and kept scrolling.

_Daddy is here to guide you. Daddy knows what’s best for you, what you crave. Daddy can punish and praise, whatever you need to be the child you truly are. _

There were options. Checkboxes for the kinds of things Will might want. Little question marks to click if he didn’t understand. Yes-Maybe-No boxes.

Diapers were right out. Will clicked that ‘no’ as hard and as fast as he could. There were a few others that were ‘maybes,’ a handful of ‘yeses.’ He wasn’t _that_ small, or at least he didn’t think so. Even as he clicked, Will brought his thumb up to his mouth, picking at his lower lip rather than actually sucking at it.

_Sexual Intimacy_ was apparently an option. According to the little info box, he couldn’t touch the… _person_, and they wouldn’t touch him, but they would talk to him while he touched himself, if he liked.

Will hovered over that box for a long time before making a decision.

His name. His address. His work schedule. Will downed another two fingers of whiskey and let the flush warm him. _What days did he prefer? What did he look for in a partner? What was his sexuality,_ a question Will had not expected to be asked.

And then there they were. A ‘selection’ for Will to choose from, stats laid out beside them, sliding scales of things like ‘Strictness’ and ‘Affection.’ There was even a bar for ‘Flirtatious,’ which made Will flush for reasons besides the alcohol.

Some of the… _people_… were women, which explained the sexuality question. Will liked women, but they didn’t quite fit what he was craving. No, what he was craving was…

There. Angles, cheekbones, a stern expression. Maxed out on the ‘Strictness’ bar, higher than anyone else on the page. Will’s mouth watered. He took another sip of whiskey.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” Will muttered. What was the point of doing this at all if he wasn’t going to take it seriously? He clicked the button and grabbed for his credit card.

_____

Will woke up half sprawled across his bed, an imprint of his laptop keyboard across his face. He had the hangover from hell, and he was late. So very, very late. ‘Four missed calls from Jack’ late.

The day was a nightmare, in and of itself. Jack yelled when Will finally showed up, a new intern threw up on Will’s sweater, forcing him to shiver in just his button-down for the rest of the day, and the pounding headache _never. Stopped. _

Will was in a mood when he finally returned home. He wasn’t sure what kind of mood, exactly. Possibly another half a bottle of whiskey kind of mood. But he’d barely gotten the dogs out into the yard, had not even opened the bottle, when the Bentley pulled up.

“Will Graham?” The man who stepped out of the car was tall, taller than Will, broad shouldered, with sharp cheekbones. He was awkwardly, uncomfortably familiar. Will took a step back towards his front door before he recognized him, before it all came rushing back to him in a humiliating haze.

“Oh god,” Will muttered to himself, then, louder, “You’re the-“ But he couldn’t make himself say it. The word stuck in his throat, thick and embarrassing.

“I’m the Daddy you ordered, yes,” the man said, smiling as he completely ignored the red flush that overtook Will’s face. “Dr. Hannibal Lecter. You may call me Hannibal, for now. May I come in? There are a few things we will need to discuss.”

The dogs liked the man, which was a plus, but Will could not stop trembling long enough to weigh pros and cons. He could afford the fee; most of his salary went to savings, after he cared for the dogs, and he lived very simply. But it was absolutely ridiculous for him to have done this, for him to have hired someone to… to _care_ for him, as though he was an infant who could not be trusted. Will’s hands shook as he poured Hannibal a glass of water, and then one for himself, though it was whiskey he wanted. They sat across from each other, a stack of papers between them.

“Business first,” Hannibal said with a small smile, “You can pay for as many days as you like, though full weeks have to be discussed ahead of time. I have the right to two days off per week, but I may not always wish to invoke that right, if I feel you need the extra attention. Weekends and overnights are extra, unless you are paying for the weekend as part of the full week package. As you were told when you checked out, the first two weeks are discounted as a trial period, but anything after that will be full price This is your work schedule?”

Will looked at the paper and cleared his throat. “My class schedule,” he corrected, “Three days a week, I teach at the FBI academy. But I’m on-call as a special agent with the FBI. Sometimes I know ahead of time when I’m needed, but I can’t guarantee I won’t be called in without notice.”

“Unfortunate, but doable,” Hannibal said, making a note on the paper, “I’ve cared for emergency responders before, we can’t all have the luxury of building our own work week. We’ll make it work together, so long as you communicate with me.”

“About that,” Will mumbled, clearing his throat when the words slurred together, “I just don’t think… I’m not so sure that… Look, this was a really ridiculous idea, I don’t know what I was thinking. I was drunk, and…”

“You were thinking you needed care,” Hannibal said, in a soft, but firm voice. “_In Vino, Veritas,_ Will. We are often far truer to ourselves when intoxicated. Besides,” he added, turning to the next page, where a series of numbers stood out, “our payments are non-refundable. You may as well make the most of your trial period.”

Of course they were nonrefundable. Will leaned back in his seat. “Alright. Two weeks.”

Hannibal nodded, running over the rows of numbers with his index finger. “You’ve booked the upcoming weekend and left the rest of the days open for discussion. I find that work is a high source of stress for most people, would you agree with that assessment?”

Will shrugged. “Teaching is easy. I’m just talking at them; I don’t need to interact. FBI work is a bit more difficult.”

“I would expect it to be,” Hannibal said, “Do you have any open cases right now?”

“Yeah, but I don’t have a full schedule, or anything like that. We work until we figure things out. I know I’m in tomorrow, for at least ten hours. More if I can manage it, but I’m going to try and be home by six. Jack has to let me go home eventually to take care of my dogs.”

Hannibal smiled softly, “Yes, you’ve got quite the pack, don’t you?”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“Not at all.” Hannibal made another note on the schedule sheet. “We’ll start with tomorrow then. 6:30?”

Will fidgeted. “I can’t promise I’ll be home on time,” He reminded Hannibal.”

“It’s no matter. I try to be lenient during the trial period. Your time won’t start until you arrive, although I’ll warn you, I will still expect you to sleep at a decent time compared to when you need to be up.”

Will’s hands tugged at the hem of his shirt. Normally, when his stomach twisted like this, he would begin to gnaw on his cuticles, but he had no desire to bring his fingers up to his mouth in front of Hannibal. “And what other expectations will you have?”

Hannibal smiled brightly, flipping to the next page. “We’ll get to the rules in just a second. I just want you to look over your checklist and make sure everything is correct. I wouldn’t want to spring something on you that was actually a hard limit.” He passed over the paper and a pen that was far too nice for Will to chew on. He chewed on his lip instead.

He was grateful to see some of the items he’d checked off as a ‘no.’ He might have actually fallen over and died if presented with an adult diaper. But had he really checked ‘maybe’ to bottles? To _pacifiers_?

And ‘yes,’ to spanking. ‘Yes’ to humiliation, because drunk Will was far more of a disaster than sober Will. Will’s fingers itched to strike the lines out. He didn’t move. It would somehow be more embarrassing to change his answers in front of Hannibal, than to have marked the boxes in the first place.

And of course… “About… _sexual intimacy_…” Will said softly.

“Think of it as similar to a phone sex hotline,” Hannibal said, “You will be free to touch yourself- only with permission, of course – and I will guide you, speak to you. There will be no physical contact between either of us, during that time.”

Will glanced up, catching the phrasing. “But outside of that time?” His face was burning. He wasn’t sure he could handle any more information.

“Both discipline and affection come with a certain expected level of physical contact. Everyone who works with our service is different. For my part, I offer physical punishment, but also hugs, cuddling, kisses. Yes,” Hannibal added with a smile, catching Will’s sudden startled squeak, “Kissing does not fall under sexual intimacy. I will kiss you however you like to be kissed, whether it be chaste and affectionate or something more arousing. The only time I will not kiss you, is if you are touching yourself. Otherwise, you are free to ask for physical affection whenever you need it. I also find that baths can be very relaxing for the little ones I work with.”

Will probably hadn’t had an actual ‘bath’ since he was five years old. He ducked his head. “That’s not necessary.”

“Nothing we will do together is necessary,” Hannibal said gently, “that doesn’t make you wrong to want it.”

Will’s hand crept up to his mouth. He bit hard at the cuticle, his nails already ragged from previous chewing. Hannibal watched the motion with sharp eyes, before flipping to the final two sheets of paper.

“You’ll have noted on the website that I’m one of the strictest Daddies on offer,” Hannibal noted, indicating the heading of the first page, where ‘Rules’ was printed in large, bold font. Several were already typed into place, but the bottom of the page held lined spaces for additional rules to be written in. “I expect to be obeyed, and in return, you will be rewarded. However, I understand that some little ones crave a heavy hand for guidance and reassurance. Naughtiness will be punished at all times, but I want to reassure you that there is little you can do to scare me away. I have only fired one client in my years with the company, and there were many steps and conversations before that.”

Hannibal pushed the Rules sheet a little closer to Will. They seemed fairly straightforward. The first one just read ‘Listen to Daddy.’

“Obedience,” Hannibal repeated, “adherence to the schedule we will build together, based on your needs. And I’ll expect you to keep to it even when I’m not around. I have an innate sense for when my little ones aren’t eating or sleeping as I’ve instructed them to.”

“Sounds more like a mommy with eyes in the back of her head,” Will muttered, before he could stop himself. To his relief, Hannibal merely chuckled.

“You wouldn’t be the first to make that observation,” Hannibal agreed. “But you’ll call me Daddy, unless we are within earshot of others, or we are having our grown-up conversations.”

“Grown-up conversations?”

“Communication is key in any relationship, but especially one with power dynamics like ours. Ideally, you would discuss any session immediately afterwards. However, given the nature of our dynamic, many of our sessions will end with you asleep in bed, so we will instead discuss previous sessions at the beginning of the next one.”

Privately, Will thought the idea of him falling asleep with a stranger in the house was wishful thinking, but he merely nodded. “Sounds reasonable.”

“The rest of my rules are more for the experience. For example, I allow screen time, but no more than a half hour per session, unless we’ve agreed to watch a film together. However, films generally fall under the category of ‘special treats.’ I abhor most children’s programming, and while films are usually much higher in quality, it seems a waste of your money to have you completely spaced out for the entirety of our time together.”

“I don’t own a TV,” Will said, “just my laptop. I like movies, but not enough to invest a lot of time or money into them.”

“Then we’ll get along fine,” Hannibal replied, “now, I need you to go over this last sheet and mark off anything that would make you uncomfortable.

The second page was set up the same as the Rules page, except this one read ‘Punishments.’ Will saw ‘washed out mouths for lying’ and couldn’t make himself read any further. He nodded, red-faced, and shoved the paper back towards Hannibal. Hannibal gave him a long, searching look, but didn’t call Will out on his obvious failure to follow instructions.

“Sign here,” he said instead, indicating a line at the bottom of the first page, “and every page thereafter.”

Will scribbled his signature down on each line, growing more rushed and illegible with each sheet of paper. He felt lightheaded by the end of it, and vaguely nauseous. He’d already paid for it, right? No harm in getting his money’s worth. “Do we start today?”

Hannibal gave him that look again, and though Will prided himself on his innate ability to understand other people, he could not for the life of him tell what Hannibal was thinking.

“Tomorrow, I should think,” Hannibal said softly, “Now that we’ve spoken, I’ll have a better idea of what you need from me. Do you have your own supplies?”

“Supplies?” Will squeaked.

“Pacifiers, bottles or sippy cups. Some toys to keep you entertained. I have my own kit, of course, and some of your fee goes towards a fund for me to get you more personalized items as part of our relationship, but many of my clients already have a few comfort items they depend on.”

Will had a plastic dinnerware set, a box of Kraft Mac & Cheese, a ratty dollar store coloring book, and an 8 pack of cheap crayons with the blue broken in three pieces. He tried not to think about his and Hannibal’s ‘relationship,’ or about the other man buying him personalized gifts. It made him feel too exposed. “No,” Will managed, his mouth dry, “No, I don’t really have… I don’t usually…”

“Will…” A large hand covered his own, pulling Will’s now-bleeding cuticles away from his teeth. “It’s okay to be new to this. It’s okay not to know what you need, just yet. We will figure it out together.”

Hannibal made it sound so easy, so absurdly simple, that Will couldn’t help but nod. “Tomorrow, then,” he whispered, reluctantly pulling away from Hannibal’s warm grip.

Hannibal nodded, smiling faintly as he gathered the papers. “Tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The possibility of sexual intimacy is discussed, but not acted on. I know some people don't like mixing that up with their ageplay so I thought I would warn that it's gonna come up again.

Will had a tendency towards lateness, but when ‘tomorrow’ came, he was early. He sat on his front porch steps, the dogs milling about the yard, and did _not_ have a heart attack. He didn’t. He just sat there, with his pulse racing in his chest and his throat, and Winston whining and nosing at his face.

This was ridiculous, but Will could not decide what about it was the _most_ ridiculous .The fact that he had hired a sex worker to come and treat him like a preschool child? Or the fact that he was getting so worked up over being allowed to _relax_ for an evening?

He could see the Bentley coming down the road, too pristine for Will’s gravel drive. He winced as it scattered pebbles in its wake, the dogs watching curiously as the car came to a stop.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter apparently wore a suit every day. He made Will feel underdressed, in his loose button down and too-old slacks. Will couldn’t remember the last time he’d even _seen_ a suit, before Hannibal.

“Hello, Will.” Hannibal stepped out of the car, pulling a large duffle bag from the back seat.

“Hello.” The word turned to dust in Will’s mouth. Had they started yet? What did he call him? What did he say? How did you talk to someone who had come to _parent_ you?

Hannibal crossed the yard in his fancy shoes, crouching before Will in a way Will himself had crouched in front of small children. Will immediately dropped his gaze down to the ground. Hannibal was smiling at him, and not in the artificial way Will would have expected. He seemed genuinely happy to see Will.

“I’d like you to come inside with me now,” Hannibal said, holding out a hand for Will to take. Will’s own hands were sweaty, clutching at the knees of his slacks.

“Is it… Are we starting?”

Hannibal tilted his head with that same patient smile. “Is that alright?”

“I don’t… I don’t know _how_…” Will cut himself off, biting hard at his lower lip. Hannibal’s hand came up to cup his chin, his thumb gently prying Will’s lip from between his teeth. Will stared up at him with wide eyes, his breath coming a little sharper.

“There’s nothing to worry about. Why don’t you just come inside with Daddy, and we’ll figure things out together.”

Will’s breath caught in his throat, and then stopped entirely. He made a small, soft, and utterly embarrassing noise, a strangled little squeak. Hannibal’s fingers wrapped around Will’s hand, gently prying it up from Will’s slacks. He didn’t even seem to notice the sweat.

“Come along, Will. This is _your_ time, you don’t want to spend it out on the porch alone, do you?”

“No,” Will breathed.

“No…?” Hannibal trailed off, helping Will to his feet. Will’s face was hot.

“No, Daddy,” he squeaked.

“There’s my good boy.” And then, before Will could properly process that, Hannibal had leaned in to press a kiss to his reddened cheek.

Hannibal had brought an entire kit with him, or so he said as he placed the duffle bag next to the kitchen table, guiding Will to sit in the chair beside it. “Much of this is mine,” Hannibal explained, “and it will come with me when I leave, so that none of my clients ever want for anything. Some things, however, will stay with you. For example, gifts.”

Will peered curiously into the bag, unable to get a close enough look before Hannibal had sealed it again. Hannibal held out a small stuffed animal.

“I noticed you liked dogs,” Hannibal said with a wry smile.

The animal was a collie, thickly furred and unbearably soft to the touch. Will supposed he must have had stuffed animals as a very young child, but by the time he was old enough to form lasting long-term memories, anything ‘babyish’ had been left behind. Bill Graham, Sr. had not been one to coddle his son.

Will traced a hand hesitantly over the collie’s fur, and then snatched his hand back. Hannibal shook his head, and then placed the toy into Will’s lap. “No, darling. This is _yours_. You’ll keep it even when our arrangement comes to an end.”

Will sat stiff as a board in his chair, almost afraid to touch the toy. Hannibal ignored his reluctance, or perhaps he was used to it, instead standing and helping himself to Will’s cabinets. He did not seem to like what he found there, judging by the displeased humming noises he was making. It was enough to distract Will from his terror; he tracked Hannibal’s movements curiously, one hand coming up to keep the toy from falling.

“You didn’t eat?” Will asked. “I have spaghetti?”

“And _canned_ sauce,” Hannibal noted, turning for the fridge. He said ‘canned’ as though it was a four-letter word, and seemed even _less_ pleased with what he found in the fridge. “When was the last time you went shopping, Will?”

“Umm…” Will bit on his lip. Hannibal turned to him and frowned. Will didn’t like it when he frowned. It made him feel vaguely disappointing.

“Um?” Hannibal prodded. Will blushed, looking down at the Collie in his lap.

“I don’t remember,” Will admitted, hastily adding, “Daddy,” at the last second.

Hannibal tsked. Will flinched.

“I don’t really have a lot of time to cook,” Will said frantically, “And sometimes I’m away for a couple of days. Perishables aren’t always practical.”

Will could feel Hannibal’s stare on him for another long minute, before the man sighed. “This seems as good a time as any to go over my rules one more time.”

From the bag came two laminated sheets of paper, both bearing Will’s signature. The ‘Rules’ and ‘Punishments’ sheets both ended up pinned to Will’s freezer, right around eye level. Unavoidable. Unforgettable. Will didn’t whimper; he considered this to be an improvement over the squeaking.

“As long as our arrangement continues, I expect these rules to be followed,” Hannibal said, crouching in front of Will and cupping Will’s chin so Will could no longer avoid his gaze. “Even when I am not around. I will be more than happy to punish you for disobedience if you don’t care for yourself while I’m not here. Am I understood, Will?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Will replied, with only a slight flinch. Hannibal’s tone had not left room for disagreement.

“Good boy. Now, I understand that cooking can be a luxury, but I expect you to make sure you eat _something. _Am I correct in assuming, going by the state of your cabinets, that dinner and breakfast are not always priorities for you?”

Will blushed, tried to nod, and found his chin gripped firmly. “Sometimes it’s hard?” He said softly.

“It can be,” Hannibal agreed, “However, as long as I’m here, we’ll eat actual meals together, and I will leave you leftovers to heat up. You’ll be expected to eat _something_ resembling a meal at least twice a day, preferably three times, even if it _must_ be from a box. Agreed?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Will mumbled. Hannibal smiled.

“You’re doing very well,” he praised, releasing Will’s chin and placing a kiss to the tip of his nose. Will, having never been kissed there before, made a noise that was not _exactly_ a laugh, more a breathless and confused exhalation. “Two meals,” Hannibal repeated, “A full night of sleep. And you’ll call me to check in before bedtime, if I’m not here.”

“You take your job really seriously,” Will said before he could help himself.

“I do,” Hannibal agreed, “that’s my responsibility, as the Daddy. Now, do you remember the rest of the rules?”

Will did. There had only been a few. “No cursing,” he said, with a faint laugh.

“I expect good manners from my little ones, but I don’t think that will be a problem with you, will it?”

“No, Daddy.” It was getting easier every time he said it, though Will still felt as if he might fall over.

“Good. And what’s next, sweet boy?”

Sweet boy. Darling. Little one. Will was faced with more affection in fifteen minutes than he’d had in _years_, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could handle it. “Listen to Daddy. Unless I need to use my safeword.”

“Which is?”

Will had filled it out himself, on the website, half-gone on whiskey. It took him a minute to remember what embarrassing term was written on the Rules sheet. “Jameson,” he finally said.

“That’s right. That’s the most important one to remember. However...” Hannibal tilted his head to the side, and his grin turned just a bit more… Will hesitated to apply a word like ‘mischievous’ to a man in his 40s in a three-piece suit, but there was a distinct pleasure there that made Will wary. “You’ve skipped one, Will.”

Oh. _Oh_. Not the first rule, nor the last, but one Will had skimmed over, already too high strung from the way Hannibal had _spoken_ about it. “Don’t… Don’t…” Will flushed a deep red, turning his face away now that he could. “Don’t touch myself without permission,” he finished, in a one-word rush.

Hannibal turned Will’s face back towards him. His smile had softened once more. “That’s right,” he said gently, “you’re not allowed any more, without Daddy’s supervision.”

Will _did_ whimper, this time. This was not inherently sexual for him, though he was aware it was for other people. For him, it was about letting go, about relaxing.

But he was still a healthy adult man, and Hannibal was still _very_ attractive, and the entire conversation made him squirm slightly in his seat. Hannibal took pity on him.

“We don’t need to worry about that right now,” He assured Will, releasing his cheek to run a hand through his messy curls, “we don’t need to worry about it all, if you decide not to. For now, let’s handle dinner. Get your shoes.”

“…What?” Will felt like the conversation had derailed. His hand clenched around the stuffed collie, and then he released it just as quickly, embarrassed.

“We need to go to the grocery store,” Hannibal said, straightening up.

“What, _now_?!”

“Yes, Will,” Hannibal said patiently, “we need something to make for dinner tonight and tomorrow. Now, do you need Daddy to help you with your shoes?”

“No!” Will yelped, scrambling up from his seat. With no other options in sight, he grabbed his sneakers, depositing the Collie on his bed.

“Do you sleep upstairs at all?” Hannibal asked curiously .Will shrugged.

“I don’t sleep well,” he admitted, “It’s easier down here, with the dogs, where I can see everything.”

Hannibal peered out the window, then nodded. “Well, we’ll see what we can do about the sleeping.”

“I wish you luck,” Will muttered. Hannibal gave him a disapproving frown, and then took him by the hand.

“I expect you on your best behavior,” he said to Will’s bright-red face, “you’re still Daddy’s boy outside these walls. I’ll expect you to listen to me.”

“People will stare,” Will told him.

“Not if you’re good.”

_____

They drove past Will’s usual grocery store. Once you got past the fields and trees of Will’s particular corner of Virginia, you stumbled into city blocks and sprawling urban centers. It didn’t take long to get to just about anything you wanted, but it was longer than Will was used to driving for basic food supplies, and he couldn’t help the curious looks he shot Hannibal’s way.

Hannibal finally came to a stop at grocery store that was just the kind of pretentious snobbery Will’s dad had made fun of when Will was a boy. Will hesitated with his hand on the door. “Hannibal…”

“Daddy,” Hannibal corrected gently, bringing a fresh blaze to Will’s cheeks.

“People will hear!” Will hissed, though neither of them had yet stepped out of the car, and indeed, Hannibal had tucked them all the way in the back of the lot.

“Then you’ll have to speak quietly, won’t you?”

Will stared down at his feet, listening to the hummingbird thrum of his pulse in his ears. He gave a short, stiff nod, and Hannibal rewarded it by taking his hand and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. It drew a small, helpless noise from Will, so very rarely touched in any gentle manner.

“Good boy. Now, what’s bothering you, Will?”

“It’s… It’s a little pricy, Daddy,” Will murmured, voice thick with hesitant shame.

“You’ve already paid for it,” Hannibal assured him. “Anything we need to purchase for your care comes out of a portion of your fee. We aren’t in the habit of hidden fees, sweet boy. It’s time to trust Daddy, instead of worrying so much.”

Will hid a snort of laughter in his hands, brushing his bangs back and out of his eyes. “I’m not picky,” he said, instead of any of the other self-deprecating things that had popped up in his mind, “you could have gone to any store.”

“I went precisely to the place I wanted to be,” Hannibal told him, “now, the longer we dally here, the less time there is to play tonight. Shall we go?”

Will’s voice died in his throat. He couldn’t fathom ‘play’ or anything that seemed remotely similar. Even his coloring book only had a few hesitant scribbles, from his neediest attempts.

Hannibal exited the car, coming around to Will’s side to hold the door open for him. “Come along, Will,” he said, gripping Will’s hand tightly.

Lovers held hands all the time, but as Hannibal led Will into the store, he couldn’t shake the idea that everyone _knew_, that they could look right at him and see a giant sign screaming ‘little boy.’ It wasn’t a very crowded place, and Hannibal navigated it with a practiced ease, only releasing Will when he needed two hands to steer the cart. He picked through the produce with a sharper, pickier eye than Will had ever devoted to anything less than corpses, occasionally making soft sounds of approval before adding a vegetable to the cart.

“Do you have any food sensitivities, Will?”

“No. Not a fan of _those_, though,” Will said as Hannibal prodded at some mushrooms. Hannibal paid him no mind, reaching for a plastic bag to wrap them in.

“I won’t eat those,” Will tried again. That got him a slightly amused look as Hannibal placed the mushrooms in the cart.

“I’m sure you will,” Hannibal said mildly. Will frowned, irritated now at Hannibal’s casual disregard.

“I’m sure I _won’t_,” he muttered, belatedly aware of how immature it sounded. He flushed, glancing away from Hannibal, who had paused to stare him down. He hadn’t looked at all surprised, rather, he looked as though he’d been waiting for just such an occasion.

“Will,” Hannibal said, his voice low and dangerous, “I’m sure you’d like to start our first day off on the right foot, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah…” Will mumbled. Hannibal continued to stare at him expectantly. Will glanced around, from the bored deli supervisor on his phone, to the elderly woman poking at pears a few feet away. Not close enough to overhear, but close enough that Will’s face went hot as he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy.” Hannibal, in contrast, spoke at his usual speaking volume, turning to continue down the aisles. Will squeaked, embarrassed, and hurried after them.

Will tried to be on his best behavior for the rest of the trip, but the thing about grocery shopping was that it was very boring at the best of times. Will generally tried to do as little of it as possible.

Hannibal, on the other hand, seemed to relish it. He wandered the aisles, skipping over entire sections but lingering over others. He _read the nutritional information_. Will had never in his life bothered to do that.

“I prefer to make most things from scratch,” Hannibal explained, mulling over pasta, “But I’m afraid my kitchen is set up very differently than yours. We’ll have to make do until I can bring you something from home.”

“You make spaghetti noodles?” Will asked skeptically.

“And a variety of others,” Hannibal confirmed, “Although I don’t eat large amounts of pasta, as a whole. I enjoy trying as many different options as possible.”

Will could admit to being a tiny bit curious about homemade pasta, though not enough to put the effort into it. He couldn’t imagine having that much spare time.

A few feet down there was a small display of boxed macaroni and cheese. A man who made his own spaghetti noodles was unlikely to be the sort of man who could tolerate powdered cheese, but Will had never minded. Tired of waiting for Hannibal to decide between identical overpriced packages of pasta, Will perused the display, vaguely amused by the variety in shapes, far more than there had been when he was a child. One box was charmingly labeled ‘Mac & Puppies,’ and it was almost enough to pull a small laugh from Will.

“No, Will.” Hannibal’s hand came down on Will’s shoulder, gently nudging him forward. Will had not intended to buy the box at all – he already had his preferred brand at home – but his frustration towards the mushrooms had not yet cooled. He reached out, snagging a box as Hannibal guided him away.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it.”

Hannibal’s hands stopped Will before he could drop the box into the cart, plucking it from his grasp.

“I said I’ll pay for it,” Will protested, as Hannibal placed the box neatly back in its display.

“And I said no,” Hannibal replied calmly, “You’ve got plenty of processed foods in your cabinets. We’re here to try and get some proper food in your belly.”

Unused to being restricted in his choices, Will hesitated, long enough that Hannibal began to nudge him forward again. “But I want it,” he said, unable to think of any other argument. Hannibal glanced at him, amusement clear across his face.

It seemed… unfair. ‘Fairness’ was a childish concept, but Hannibal wanted him childish, didn’t he? And besides that, Will let very few people tell him what to do in his adult life. Jack’s control stemmed mostly from guilt; otherwise, Will was used to sequestering himself away in his house with his dogs and enough quick meals that he never had to linger long in the kitchen.

Will _wanted_ it. It didn’t matter why he wanted it. It didn’t matter that he had more, _better_ mac & cheese at home. What mattered was that Hannibal had come in with his bossy hands and his _mushrooms_, and Will was not entirely sure how one was supposed to be a ‘little one’ anyway, so the whole experiment was ridiculous, and Will _wanted_ it.

The empty aisle made Will brave. He squeezed past Hannibal, intent on the box. His fingertips barely grazed it before a strong hand on his collar jerked him back. Will squeaked, tugged under Hannibal’s heavy arm.

“That’s strike two, sweet boy,” Hannibal whispered, his lips grazing Will’s temple. They could have been lovers, any ordinary pair in the store. Only Will’s stiff features would have given them away. “Do you think I’ve never had a little one test boundaries before? Everybody wants to know what to expect, the first time. If you’d like a punishment, you need only ask.”

“I _wouldn’t_!” Will sputtered, wriggling in Hannibal’s grasp. Hannibal kept Will pinned against his side, one hand splayed across his chest.

“Then you’ll behave for the rest of the trip, won’t you?” Hannibal’s words became a kiss, pressed firm to Will’s cheek. “One more chance, Will. Impress me.”

The idea of ‘impressing’ Hannibal was a novel one. Punishments made Will’s belly twist uncomfortably; he had once again avoided looking at the list while Hannibal pinned it to the freezer.

‘Impressing,’ on the other hand, made a different kind of bubble in his belly. Hannibal seemed very well put together, especially for a man who parented grown adults for a living. Will wondered what it took to impress him, outside of this dynamic? When he wasn’t surrounding himself with crayons and stuffed animals?

These musings took Will all the way through the next aisles, since Hannibal skipped over all of them but the spices. It also kept him patient while Hannibal debated over a variety of breads and made various faces at their relative level of freshness.

“I’ll bring my own supplies next time,” he promised Will, stocking the cart with a nicer loaf of fresh bread than the plastic-wrapped white Will usually bought. Will could not imagine where Hannibal shopped, if this store, nicer than any Will had ever bothered with, was a disappointment to him.

By the time Hannibal started arguing (and Will had not known it was possible to argue _politely_, especially when the other person went so red in the face) with the man behind the deli counter, Will’s musings had drawn to a halt. There was only so much time one could devote to imagining prissy things one had no experience with, after all, and Will found he was _bored_.

‘Bored’ was an unfamiliar concept for Will. He liked the quiet. He liked solitude, and had never been bothered by a long car or plane ride.

But then, Will usually had a book on those trips, or at least some interesting scenery to look at. He had never spent this long in a grocery store in his adult life. It reminded him an awful lot of being a child and scrounging through handfuls of pennies with his father to see what food group they would go without this week: canned fruit or canned vegetables.

Will wandered. He couldn’t help himself. The terrible pop station on the radio was making his head ache, and Hannibal was taking _forever _and there were entire aisles Hannibal had skipped over with bright labels and _oh_, Will had not been this far under in a _while_.

It should not have been so easy to drop, especially in public, but Will had been tense for ages, and Hannibal just seemed so _insistent_, and Will didn’t actually want to resist, anyway. When Hannibal found him, he was on his knees in front of a rack of candy, running his fingers. He looked up with a wide-eyed, guilty expression, and hoped he looked cute.

Looking down at him, Hannibal raised an eyebrow. He didn’t even need to speak, he just held out a hand and Will was scrambling up, letting Hannibal pull him along towards the check out.

“Strike three?” Will mumbled, his palm sweaty in Hannibal’s firm grasp.

“Strike three,” Hannibal confirmed.

_____

Hannibal buckled Will into the backseat for the journey home, which was an indignity far beyond any Will had ever been made to suffer before Hannibal.

“Someone will see!” He hissed as Hannibal guided him into the backseat with firm hands on his shoulders.

“You’re hidden by the car, no one is looking,” Hannibal assured him, “Although they will, if you continue to put up a fuss.”

That shut Will up, although he squirmed uncomfortably as Hannibal did Will’s seatbelt up himself, batting Will’s hands away when he tried to take over.

“You let me sit up front when we came here,” Will protested.

“The front seat is for big boys. Little boys who can’t behave in the grocery store sit in the back, where Daddy can make sure they are safe.”

Will wasn’t sure what brought a fiercer shade of red to his cheeks: the words themselves, or the sternly disappointed look Hannibal gave him as he said them. Had he really insisted on strictness while choosing a Daddy? What had he been _thinking_? What had he been thinking with any of this?

Sinking low in his seat, Will buried his face in his hands. There was a shuffling sound and a thud as Hannibal tucked the groceries into the trunk, and then Will found his wrists gathered up effortlessly in one hand, Hannibal’s other cupping his chin and tilting his head up. Will… squeaked. Apparently, he was just going to do that all the time, now.

Hannibal looked a lot more sympathetic this time. He also looked blurry. Will hadn’t realized just how frustrated and stressed he was feeling, and as he looked up, a tear spilled over, trailing down his cheek. Hannibal wiped it away with his thumb and a soft shushing noise.

“There now, no need for all this fuss,” Hannibal whispered, rubbing gently over Will’s cheekbone in a way that made him feel vaguely warm all over, “We’ll go home and deal with the problem, and then it will be over. A clean slate. This isn’t the end of the line, Will. You’re still my good boy.”

Will bit down hard on his lip, until Hannibal gently tugged it free. He pressed a soft kiss to Will’s forehead before releasing him, closing the door and settling himself into the front seat. Will stared numbly at the back of Hannibal’s head. He didn’t think anyone had ever kissed his forehead in his entire life. Certainly, his _father_ had never been so gentle, especially on the rare occasion Will got up to mischief.

“Daddy?” Will’s voice was a whisper, barely loud enough for his own ears, but Hannibal heard it.

“Yes, Will?”

“I’m sorry.”

With a tilt of his head, Will could see a hint of a smile in the rearview mirror. “There’s my sweet boy.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER COMES WITH WARNINGS. Please click the button to take you to the end notes to view them.

Will’s stomach was twisting. By the time Hannibal pulled up to his house, he felt like he was going to throw up. He probably should have paid more attention to Hannibal’s stupid lists. It was the not knowing that was killing him.

Not knowing, but also a little bit of… guilt? It seemed ridiculous to feel guilty over _walking a grocery store by himself_, but there it was. He twisted his hands in his lap, waiting once they were parked for Hannibal to release him from the backseat.

This turned out to be the right decision. Hannibal freed him with an affectionate smile that lightened Will’s nerves the tiniest bit. Not enough to erase the fear of what was about to happen, but enough that he didn’t vomit all over Hannibal’s very nice shoes, at least. He helped Hannibal carry the groceries into the kitchen, but found himself taken in hand before he could help to unpack anything. With strong hands on Will’s shoulders, Hannibal guided Will to an empty corner in the kitchen.

“I’d like you to stand here for a bit and think about your behavior today, Will.”

Will, face scarlet, gave a stiff nod. Hannibal’s hands disappeared. Staring at the blank white wall, Will felt adrift. “Daddy?” He called, after a very long moment of silence broken only by the rustle of plastic bags, “How long is ‘a bit?’”

“I’ll let you know when you’re done, Will. Hush, now.”

Will hushed.

Hannibal didn’t lecture, as Will had thought he might. He didn’t speak at all, in fact, focusing on quietly unpacking the groceries. Will could hear him opening and closing cabinets and the refrigerator, accompanied by the occasional shuffle of footsteps, but beyond that, it was like being in the room alone. Will stood stock-still in the corner, his stomach rolling, his hands twisting together, for ages and ages.

There was something humiliating about being on display like this. He knew Hannibal could see him, having been the one to put Will in the corner in the first place, and Will perpetually felt eyes on his back, even when Hannibal surely had to be looking somewhere else. It was just a slow, creeping dread.

He wondered what internet Daddies did to punish naughtiness. He knew what his actual father had done, and it made his hands tremble where he stood. Will hadn’t had to deal with such a concept in years, not since he’d left home the first second he could. He knew, theoretically, that care and discipline went hand-in-hand. He could even admit to craving such a thing, if he sat and _really_ studied his motivations.

But standing here, wallowing in anticipation and the heavy weight of Hannibal’s disapproval, Will could not remember why he’d asked for this. Why he’d specifically sought out someone to be stern with him, to push him hard and keep him steady. He didn’t feel steady. He felt lost.

At some point, Will must have zoned out. He slid back into himself when Hannibal’s hand returned to his shoulder, and he realized with a start that there were tears in his eyes. Will wiped hastily at his face with his sleeve, only to have Hannibal gently pry his hands away.

“I…” Will stammered as he was turned, “I was just…”

“It’s alright,” Hannibal said, “It’s all done now.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, one soft as silk and with his initials monogrammed into the corner. Will stared at him mutely, jerking back when Hannibal used the cloth to wipe gently at Will’s face.

“I don’t need-“

“You do,” Hannibal corrected, patting Will’s red cheeks dry, “And I am going to provide. Punishments are difficult, Will, even when they’re minor. There’s no shame in needing to be comforted afterwards.”

Will wavered, shifting from foot to foot, his eyes darting wildly around the room to avoid Hannibal’s own gaze. But when Hannibal opened his arms, Will went, practically clinging as he was wrapped up in a tight grip.

Will couldn’t seem to slow his racing heart. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged him. A coworker, perhaps, drunk at a faculty Christmas party. Not like this, though, this all-encompassing blanket of a hug. Hannibal hugged like Will was something small, something delicate in need of coddling.

Will ached when he pulled away.

“Come sit and talk to me,” Hannibal murmured, guiding Will to a seat at the table. He’d laid three items out, and Will stared at them with only vague recognition.

A notebook. A bar of soap. A belt.

The belt drew Will’s attention, first and foremost. Just an ordinary belt. A long strip of thick black leather with a buckle on the end.

Hannibal was speaking. “I’d like to discuss where we would typically wind up after certain behaviors you exhibited today.”

Dad’s belt had been brown, split and lifting from the base in places.

“Today was your first day, and I wanted to keep things flowing smoothly for you.”

It had wrapped all the way around Will’s ribs once and knocked the breath right out of him.

“However, in the future…”

And the buckle_thebuckle_

“Will? Will, can you take a deep breath for me?”

“No!” Will lashed out with both hands at the table, shoving it so hard that it flipped on its cheap, flimsy legs. The notebook flopped to the floor, the soap went flying.

The belt was by his feet.

“No no no…”

Will kicked at it, scrambling out of the chair and tripping over his own feet. Everything was too much, too much at once, his mind screaming at him _why did you do this it’s going to hurt so bad_. Will backed up and kept backing up and he was _screaming_ “No, no, Jameson Jameson…”

Will’s back hit Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal spun him around, tucking Will’s face into his shoulder with a hand in his hair. He was speaking. Will was crying. Everything felt wrong.

Will had not spent most of his adult life feeling particularly small. He was nearly six feet tall. Yet, somehow, Hannibal managed to get his one arm around Will’s back and one under his thighs, hoisting Will up into the air like one might a small child. Will flung an arm around Hannibal’s throat, clinging in sudden terror, but Hannibal didn’t waver. He probably couldn’t have carried Will indefinitely, but he was strong enough to bring Will out to the living room, where he dropped onto the edge of the bed, Will in his lap.

The motion had startled Will badly enough that the tears stopped entirely. His breaths came in shaky, wavering pants, and he clutched at Hannibal’s shirt as though he might fall if he let go.

“There you go,” Hannibal whispered in his ear, “It’s out of sight. I’ll put it away in a moment, and I won’t bring it back. You’ll never see it again, Will.”

Will nodded against the shoulder of Hannibal’s suit jacket, damp with tears that were quickly cooling, irritating against his cheeks. He should have felt guilty, but Will no longer felt like he had enough room inside of him for more than one feeling at a time. Instead of worrying about it, he switched shoulders, tucking his face against Hannibal’s throat. Hannibal welcomed him, petting softly through his hair until the tension started to ease out of Will’s shoulders.

“Technically,” Hannibal whispered in his ear, “using your safeword should mean play stops entirely, but you seemed as though you could use the extra comfort.”

Will gripped tighter to Hannibal’s chest. His nails had to be pinching, even through the suit jacket, but Hannibal made no move to stop him. “I don’t want to talk about it,” He whispered back.

“Then we won’t,” Hannibal promised him. “My job is not to demand all your secrets, Will, nor to put you through pain or discomfort beyond which you can reasonably handle. My job is to make you feel happy and safe. Pushing you now would do neither.”

Will thought ‘happy and safe’ seemed counterintuitive to the day they’d had so far. But then again… Hadn’t it been a relief, to let go for once? Hadn’t he felt the weight of Hannibal’s attention, in the store and then in the car? And now this: a shaking mess, but secure. Held tight in Hannibal’s arms, with no sign that Hannibal was going to force him to let go.

“I’m sorry,” Will mumbled. Hannibal gave his curls a gentle tug.

“You need never apologize for something like this, Will.”

“I’ve never freaked out like that before.”

“You’ve also likely never had an intimate partner show you a belt with the clear intention of physical harm, particularly when you were already under high levels of stress.”

Will found himself whining softly at the phrasing, shaking his head against Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal hushed him gently.

“I pushed you too hard today, Will, and for that I am sorry. I had hoped to help you go under quicker, and you did, but that also made you more vulnerable.”

“No,” Will mumbled stubbornly.

“Yes,” Hannibal said with a small laugh.

“I liked most of it,” Will admitted. He dropped his voice to a whisper, hidden against Hannibal’s throat. “The… The backseat and being in trouble and the bossiness… That was all okay.”

“I promise that there are fun things in your future as well,” Hannibal assured him, “it’s not all orders and time out.”

“I know that.” He didn’t, not entirely. Or rather, he had an idea of the concept, but not what it entailed. Somewhere on this bed was a small stuffed collie. Will wanted it, and did not have a clue what to do with it, and these thoughts had no trouble coexisting within him.

Hannibal held him for a few minutes more, quiet and comforting, before he pushed Will back by the shoulders. Will loosened his death grip on Hannibal’s shirt, wincing at the wrinkles and stretched fabric he’d left behind. Hannibal ushered him to his feet, a gentle, guiding hand on his shoulder, and led him back to the table. He straightened Will’s chair first and sat him in it, before pulling the table back upright. The items from before disappeared into the ‘Daddy Bag’.

“You didn’t read the punishments list, did you, Will?” Hannibal asked, taking the seat across from him.

“No, Daddy, Will mumbled, staring down at the table.

“We’re having an adult conversation right now, Will. Fixing the problems that caused you to need your safeword so that we can move forward. You may call me Hannibal for now, if you’d prefer.”

Will would _not_ prefer, and the vehemence of that thought startled him, but saying that out loud was an impossibility Will could not even begin to face. “I didn’t read them, Hannibal.” He rephrased, shame creeping over him in slow waves.

“I suspected as much. Here, I’d like you to go over them again.” Hannibal handed Will the laminated sheet. Will read the list carefully this time, though it made him feel twitchy and uncomfortable. It ranged from mild to severe, with a little note explaining that punishments could always be intensified, and he noticed that corner time was up near the top. A hand spanking was somewhere around the middle, and that seemed… fine. He wouldn’t know until he actually tried it, but he was fairly certain he could handle it without any surprises.

Near the bottom, though…

There was the belt, low on the list. It was explicitly stated that it would only be used on his ass (though of course, Hannibal had not said ass), which was somehow a bit of a relief even though they weren’t going to be using it at all. And then, underneath that…

“These were on my ‘no’ list!” Will yelped, jabbing his finger at a line that just read ‘diapers.’

“Limits sometimes make the best punishments,” Hannibal said softly. He did not look even the slightest bit embarrassed, which Will thought was unfair. “Had you read the list, you would have seen them on there during our discussion period and been able to bring them up sooner.” He managed to make Will blush even harder, this time from a guilty shame.

“This isn’t easy, you know,” Will muttered.

“I know,” Hannibal said, “but you’re doing very well for me right now.” Pulling a black marker from his seemingly-infinite Daddy Bag, Hannibal slid it over to Will. “Cross out anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. It’s dry-erase, so don’t worry if you’re not sure. We can always revisit.”

Will wanted a permanent marker for the diapers. He settled for scribbling them out with a heavy hand and a glare towards Hannibal. The belt was next, and then a few other things he was uncertain about. Restriction of affection sounded stressful, when Will could barely handle a single day without falling into Hannibal’s lap like some sort of needy infant. He slid the list and the marker back to Hannibal, who did not seem to care that half his list was now a frantic mess of black scribble. He nodded, returning both the list and the marker their proper places

“The corner time was alright, then?” There was an odd look on Hannibal’s face, almost suspicious. Skeptical.

Will shrugged. He knew he’d cried, but he didn’t entirely know _why_. The corner itself hadn’t been a problem. “It’s a little boring, but I guess it’s supposed to be.”

Hannibal watched him for a long moment, long enough that Will began to fidget. “Next time,” he finally said, in that calm, irritatingly patient voice of his, “I’ll give you something to ground you. I believe you find isolation stressful.”

Will scoffed, gesturing around the kitchen. “I live in the middle of nowhere.”

“Self-imposed, and with the dogs to keep you company,” Hannibal pointed out. “And you still bear the scars of someone left on his own for far too long.”

Will didn’t have an answer for that. He snapped his mouth shut, staring down at the table. “Am I still in trouble?” he asked, deflecting.

“No,” Hannibal assured him, “The corner time was intended to be your only punishment. I had meant to demonstrate for you that I was sympathetic to your first-day nerves by showing you the sort of punishment you would usually expect for specific infractions.”

Soap for arguing, no doubt. Anyone could have guessed that one. Notebook for writing lines, tedious but not awful. “What was the belt for?”

“Disobedience that could be considered dangerous. For example, wandering off out of my sight in an unfamiliar store.”

Will scoffed. “I’m not an actual child. No one is going to kidnap a 36 year old man.”

“But the point of this exercise is not to treat you like a 36 year old man, is it?” Hannibal’s eyebrow raised. He had a way of looking at Will that made Will feel like he was seeing through him. Will wasn’t sure he liked it.

“…No,” Will finally mumbled.

“With the belt off the table, I think a simple extended spanking for dangerous situations will get my point across. You indicated that spanking with my hand would still be acceptable?”

Red-faced, Will stared at Hannibal’s hands. He had big hands. Sturdy. They’d probably hurt.

But there was only so much damage someone could do with their hands. Will could probably fight Hannibal off if he had to, if Hannibal was unarmed. He nodded.

“Wonderful,” Hannibal said, with a smile that seemed more appropriate for Christmas presents than for spankings. “Do you have any other concerns before we continue?”

Continue, because Hannibal still had a job to do. A job Will was paying him for. Will still had a few more hours of this man’s time _that he had purchased_. It was easy to forget that, when you were being coddled, or even discussing appropriate punishments. Will shook his head. “What now?” He asked.

“Now,” Hannibal said, looking down at his watch, “I cook, and you have some playtime.”

Will looked from Hannibal’s face to the bag. His stomach swooped low again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/trigger warnings for this chapter: Anxiety, PTSD symptoms, discussions of spankings, discussions of spanking with a belt, references to past child abuse, safewording from panic. If you enjoy this story but need to skip this chapter because of its content, please leave a comment and I'll summarize the important bits for you so you have context for the next chapter.
> 
> also I hope you enjoy one single day stretching out over four chapters because they won't all be like that. Joys of this being my comfort fic, I get to do whatever I want :P


	4. Chapter 4

Hannibal set Will up on a blanket on the floor in the far corner of the kitchen. It was not one of Will’s blankets. Nothing he owned was quite this soft, this large, this encompassing. It would be unbearable in the summer, but with the weather shifting colder, it insulated Will’s legs from the cool kitchen tile.

Hannibal had also set up a range of activities for a variety of ages, with the promise that he would adapt his bag as he got to know Will better. Will had immediately disregarded the large, chunky alphabet blocks as ‘patronizing,’ something he had not said out loud. There was also a baby doll, which held no interest for Will, a bin of LEGOs which peeked his curiosity, and a stack of brand new coloring books with crayons. These crayons were not Will’s broken 8-pack. This was an overwhelmingly huge, brand new Crayola set. Will had not been aware that there _were_ over 100 crayon colors, but there they were, right next to the stuffed collie Hannibal had fetched from the living room. The _real_ dogs had given this imposter a sniff and disregarded him as unthreatening, wandering off back to their beds. All except for Winston, who laid himself out next to the blanket, a sleepy-eyed guard dog.

Will had looked over this collection of toys, all spread out for him to enjoy, and backed himself hard into the corner. They felt more like a collection of knives than of tools for his enjoyment. Will couldn’t remember the last time he’d _played_, other than a few half-hearted attempts with his significantly dingier coloring book. He felt stupid looking over them, some idiot playacting at childhood. It was the classic Psych 101 textbook scenario; a sad, repressed adult with a terrible relationship with his parents seeks to relieve his lost childhood.

“Will,” Hannibal called from over by the stove, “Do you need help?”

“No!” Will yelped, “No, thank you, Daddy!”

Hannibal turned to give him a serious look, taking in the way Will crowded into the corner with his arms around his knees. “I don’t mind coming to help you,” he said gently, “It can be difficult to get started when one is unused to it.

_Difficult_. Playing with children’s toys could be _difficult._ It was so ridiculous that Will almost burst out laughing. “I don’t need help,” he insisted, though he did not move away from his corner.

Hannibal nodded. “I’ll leave you for now, and after dinner we can play together until bedtime.”

Oh god. That was the most mortifying thing Hannibal had said all day, and it had been one _hell_ of a day. Will tucked his face into his knees with a distressed moan. How did other people do this? How did they get past the shame, the clear knowledge that what you were doing was almost unfathomably weird? They must have gotten over it _somehow_, otherwise Hannibal would never have made any money, and he apparently did this full time. Although…

Something clicked in Will’s mind, something that should have called his attention long before now. And likely would have, had Will not been overwhelmed by his own issues. “Aren’t you a doctor, Daddy?”

Hannibal glanced back at Will. “I am,” he said with an amused smile, “I was a surgeon for many years, and then a psychiatrist.”

Oh great, a _shrink_ was here to watch Will lose his mind. Fantastic.

Will began to pick at a loose thread at the end of his shirt sleeve, trying to keep his hands busy and away from any stuffed toys. “Why’d you switch?”

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully. “The full story is not for little ears,” he decided,

“I teach people about murders for a living,” Will reminded him.

“During working hours,” Hannibal agreed, “But right now you’re a little one under my care, and we won’t be discussing distressing topics.”

Since Will found everything about this arrangement distressing, he couldn’t help but feel disgruntled. Hannibal chuckled at his disappointed expression.

“Perhaps I’ll tell you some day before play begins. We shall see. But the most important reason is that I found the intricacies of the brain to be far more intriguing than those of the body.”

So he was a shrink who actively enjoyed picking people’s brains apart. Even better.

“But now you’re doing this.”

“I am.”

Will waited, but Hannibal didn’t clarify. “_Why_ are you doing this?” He pressed.

“Because this is something I enjoy,” Hannibal said. He turned the stove off, passing things between pans and plates, too high up for Will to see from his spot on the floor.

“Psychiatry probably pays better.” Will knew what he’d spent for two weeks of Hannibal’s time, and it had been a decent bite out of his savings, but some of that no doubt went to the website, and he knew Hannibal portioned out some of it to spend on Will. Not including his new client discount. Will guessed a lot of rich people liked to pay for Daddies.

“It does,” Hannibal agreed, “But the money was never an issue for me. Doing this allows me to put my psychology training to work, but also to unwind a bit and enjoy my time with my little ones.”

Will flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. Hannibal wasn’t facing him, but he looked away anyway.

The kitchen was quiet, except for the sound of Hannibal putting the finishing touches on whatever he’d made for dinner. It was too quiet. It made everything on the blanket stand out in glorious technicolor.

“Daddy?” Will asked to distract himself.

“Yes, Will?” Hannibal didn’t seem to be annoyed with Will’s questions, or frustrated by them. On the contrary, the more questions Will asked, the happier he seemed to be. Hannibal was a weird person.

“Why do you like it?”

Will half-expected some sort of platitude. A company line parroted at every customer. Instead, Hannibal seemed to give the question some genuine thought.

“I enjoy learning about people,” he finally said. “There is an intimacy in this dynamic that isn’t found between doctor and patient, not even in psychiatry. Clients will often become attached to their therapist, but it is never reciprocal and should be discouraged. In this job, I am not only allowed to develop bonds, but encouraged. There is still a limit to how much connection is safe to encourage, but generally I would say I am fond of every client I’ve taken. I still receive emails from most of them.

It made sense, Will supposed. He had gone out of his way to avoid intimacy up to this point in his life, even when cultivating relationships. But then, that was probably why he had to pay strangers to come show him the slightest bit of affection.

Hannibal interrupted this depressing train of thought by bending down to pat Winston on the head. “Good boy,” he said with genuine pleasure, “Thank you for watching the baby for me.”

Will flushed all the way down to his shirt collar and looked away. He could feel that same smile land on him, and he didn’t know how to respond to it, or how to handle being called ‘the baby.’ He wasn’t a baby. He… He didn’t know _what_ he was, at this point, but he wasn’t a _baby._

Hannibal looked from Will to the untouched toys and sighed. Will felt like he’d disappointed the man, somehow, and he found himself whispering ‘sorry, Daddy,’ as Hannibal helped him to his feet.

“It’s alright, Will. We’ll practice asking for help, together.” Hannibal guided Will over to the sink and then, to Will’s absolute mortification, bracketed Will’s back and held Will’s hands, helping Will through the motions of washing them.

“I can do it!” Will insisted, squirming in Hannibal’s grasp. Hannibal shushed him.

“Let Daddy help, Will, so we can have dinner.”

Hannibal was unfairly strong. Will could have dislodged him, but it would have required an actual effort that might have been painful for both of them. Instead, he stood stone still as Hannibal washed and dried first Will’s hands, then his own, before helping Will into a seat at the table.

Two plates of pasta, in a thick, homemade sauce, with chunks of vegetables scattered throughout. Will’s had been cut into bite-sized pieces. His juice was in a sippy cup, bright blue, with a vivid green lid. Will looked at Hannibal, who had begun to twirl his completely normal sized spaghetti noodles around his fork. This was too many indignities at once.

“No thank you,” Will tried, nudging the cup a little closer to Hannibal. Hannibal looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.

“I can take it away if you’d like, but I think you’ll get very thirsty after a while.”

Will swallowed thickly. “I would like a regular cup, please, Daddy.”

“Perhaps another time,” Hannibal said, in a voice that very clearly meant ‘not ever.’ Will scuffed his socked foot against the floor, frustrated.

“I don’t want this,” he insisted, “This is embarrassing.”

“It won’t be, once you’re used to it,” Hannibal said, entirely factual with no room for argument. “Eat your dinner. Unless you wanted Daddy to help you…?”

Will immediately shoved a bite of pasta into his mouth, glaring down at his plate. It was quite possibly the best spaghetti he’d ever eaten in his life, which seemed unfair. You didn’t get to be handsome and rich with a sexy accent, brilliant enough to be a surgeon, perfectly able to read people and deduce their needs, _and_ a talented chef. That was too many things, nobody should get to have that many positive traits.

It was possible that Will was a bit tired. He felt irritable as he swallowed down more spaghetti, picking around the chunks of mushrooms until they were the only thing left on the plate. He gave Hannibal a defiant look. Hannibal merely looked amused, and not at all surprised.

“You always push back just when you start to feel good,” Hannibal noted, coming around to sit in a chair directly beside Will’s. “You don’t have to fight it, little one. It’s alright to let it feel nice.”

“I’m not pushing,” Will insisted. Hannibal scooped up some of the mushroom pieces onto a fork, holding it out.

“Open.”

“Stop that,” Will said, turning his head away, “I told you I wasn’t going to eat those.”

“And I told you you would.” Hannibal gently gripped Will’s chin, turning him back to face him. “Now, I can put you back in time out until you feel more cooperative, but I promise they will not taste as good cold.”

Will wanted to argue, to scream that he was tired of all this, tired of listening to someone else tell him what to do, tired of letting someone else run his life.

His mouth seemed to open of its own accord. He let Hannibal feed him one bite, and then another, until all the mushrooms were gone and there were frustrated tears brimming in the corner of Will’s eyes.

“There we go,” Hannibal said, pulling Will close enough to kiss his forehead before releasing him. “It’s all done now, Will.” He wiped Will’s hands and face with the napkin, and then handed Will the sippy cup. “Something to wash the taste away.”

Will looked doubtfully at the cup, but he really did hate mushrooms, regardless of how well Hannibal prepared them. He shoved the cup into his mouth, turning his face away so that he didn’t have to watch Hannibal watching him.

It was more difficult than a regular cup. The holes were not very large, keeping it spill-proof, and Will had to suck strongly at the spout to get a full sip into his mouth. The juice was good, though. Will couldn’t remember the last time he’d had apple juice. He took a few swallows, and then turned back to Hannibal, cup held tentatively in his lap.

Hannibal looked proud of him. Will really wished he would stop that. “Daddy has to clean up,” he said, in that no-nonsense tone he saved for instructions. “I would like you to go play on your mat, please.”

Will wanted to protest that it was his house, and Hannibal was… possibly some variation of ‘guest.’ He wanted to point out that it was more of a nest than a mat. He did neither, letting Hannibal help him up and shoo him back towards the corner of the room. He was still clutching the sippy cup, although the idea of drinking from it again became more and more difficult the more time passed.

The toys and the nerves were both the same. Will nudged the stuffed collie with his foot. He should probably name it. That was what you did with stuffed animals, right? Named them and cuddled them and used them for comfort.

Will didn’t name it.

He didn’t touch any of the other toys, either. He curled up, knees to his chest, watching Hannibal move around the kitchen like it was his own. Hannibal seemed so perfectly at ease, as if he had always been here, always been Will’s Daddy. As if there was nothing at all unusual or uncomfortable about this situation. Maybe there wasn’t, for _him_. He got to be the grown up.

But then, Hannibal had been more than willing to put Will in diapers, without a hint of discomfort or embarrassment on his face, so maybe Hannibal was just weird.

This time, when Hannibal had finished what he was doing, he didn’t come give Will that look of faint disappointment. Instead, he sat criss-cross on the floor next to the blanket, a sketchpad in his hands, and reached for the crayons. Will watched him curiously. The crayons were all perfectly pointed. They smelled like first grade and yearning.

Hannibal began to trace lines across his paper. Will couldn’t see what he was drawing, but he seemed very intent on it. Will thought for a moment that he would scribble down whatever note he’d decided to make and be done with it, but he just kept going, occasionally swapping out colors.

“What are you doing?” Will finally asked, unable to hold in his confusion any longer.

“I’m coloring,” Hannibal said simply. “Could you find me a dark blue, please?” He didn’t look up from the swirls he was drawing with brown. Will frowned, and then crouched forward onto his knees, digging through the various sections until he found a color that reminded him of denim. “Thank you, sweetheart,” Hannibal said when Will handed it over. Will flushed, a flutter of butterflies in his belly.

His back would not allow him to stay hunched over the crayons forever, so eventually Will dropped to his stomach, propped up a bit on his elbows, still staring. Hannibal occasionally gave him a small smile before returning to his work.

“Adults don’t color,” Will finally said. In response, Hannibal reached over to fan out the selection of coloring books he’d laid out. The one on top had been a simple children’s book, but there were several variations beneath it, some of them labeled ‘for adults,’ with thin lines and complex shapes. Will stared at them. Okay, so maybe _some_ adults colored. That didn’t matter.

“Aren’t you bored?” Will tried next. Hannibal traded out denim for green. The green crayon had glitter pressed into it. Will’s eyes tracked the sparkle. This one, Hannibal used for only a few lines before returning it to the box.

“I enjoy artistic pursuits,” Hannibal told him, “regardless of the medium. I find sketching enjoyable, and it is always a pleasure to add color to my work.”

Will swallowed thickly. He watched and watched, but Hannibal never seemed to be lying. When he reached the end of his first drawing, he merely flipped the page, too quick for Will to catch the image, and began a new sketch.

Will felt antsy. Fidgety. His feet scuffed the blanket, kicking slightly. An excess of energy. Of nerves. Maybe adults did this, but _Will_ didn’t. He never had. He traced a hand hesitantly over one of the adult coloring books. It wouldn’t hurt to look at the pictures. See what all the fuss was about.

The book Will selected had fish, loads and loads of tropical fish and coral, all in a thousand different lines to fill in. It looked harder than Will remembered coloring being. He tried to map out a way to fill in the shapes without doubling up the same color on top of itself. Almost absentmindedly, he reached for a crayon. Blue. Easy start. Lots of things in the ocean were blue. It was not a childish whim. It was just a puzzle. Will just wanted to prove he could solve it.

He’d nearly figured it all out when Hannibal’s hand landed gently on his shoulder. Will looked up from his array of colorful smears, blinking hazily.

“It’s time to clean up,” Hannibal told him gently. Will looked down at the coloring book.

“But I’m not finished.”

“Tomorrow,” Hannibal promised him, scooping the book up before Will could fuss. “Right now, it’s bedtime.”

Will helped Hannibal tuck everything neatly away into his Daddy bag, except for the cup and collie, both of which were pressed back into Will’s arms. It wasn’t until Hannibal was nudging him towards the living room to get changed that he caught a glimpse of the clock. 9:45.

“I don’t wear pajamas,” he told Hannibal, “just boxers and a t-shirt. And nobody goes to bed at 10PM.”

“Clean ones, then,” Hannibal decided, fishing through Will’s dresser drawers without a request for permission. “And you do, now.”

Will flushed as Hannibal laid out clean clothes. “If you want to go home, you could just say so. I’ve kept you long enough.”

“I’m paid by the day, not the hour,” Hannibal told him. He shooed the dogs out the door before Will could say anything about them, sending a warm flutter of warmth through Will. That flutter of warmth turned into another flutter of anxiety when Hannibal returned and reached for the hem of his shirt, “You have me as long as I’m needed. But I know your schedule, and you have classes to teach in the morning.”

“Hey!” Will protested as Hannibal lifted his shirt over his head. Hannibal’s hands were calloused, but gentle over Will’s skin. Will was suddenly reminded that Hannibal was a very attractive man, almost exactly Will’s type. “I can do it!” he yelped, when Hannibal’s thumbs hooked in the waistband of his pants.

Hannibal looked at him thoughtfully. Will’s face was flushed, his heart pounding in his chest. Hannibal worked Will’s belt free of the beltloops and unbuttoned Will’s pants. Then he stepped back, holding out the clean boxers he’d picked out.

To Will’s relief, once he’d accepted the clothes Hannibal turned to busy himself with the bedding, no doubt tutting to himself over the state of it. Will changed quickly, lugging all his clothes into the laundry room. He hovered in the doorway when he returned, biting down on his lip. Hannibal had let the dogs back in, neatened out the bedding, and then folded a corner down to welcome Will into it. The collie and the sippy cup were both nestled beside the pillow.

“I don’t need that,” Will tried to tell him. Hannibal coaxed him into bed anyway, tucking the stuffed toy into Will’s arms and then pulling the blankets up around his shoulders.

“It would be a very boring life if we all went around only partaking in things we _needed_,” Hannibal told him. He turned out all but a single lamp and settled into the chair at the foot of the bed, a book in his hands.

“I’m not going to sleep this early,” Will warned him.

“Then we shall enjoy some quiet, restful time in the dark together.” Hannibal opened up the book, turning past the table of contents to the first page. “All children,” He read, “Except one, grow up.”

It was Peter Pan. Will snorted. “A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

Hannibal smiled at him. “I find many of my clients appreciate the humor.” He returned to the story, his voice soft in the dark room. Will could not remember anyone ever reading him a story, although someone must have done so, at some point. Hannibal had a good voice for stories. His accent was soothing, his pace steady. He didn’t do voices, which relieved Will. He merely read, in that same steady tone.

Will shut his eyes. It was easier to picture the story that way. He picked at his lip with his thumb, an old soothing habit that had been recurring lately. The collie was soft against his chest. Good to lean on. The words flowed in and out, and Will was listening right up until he wasn’t.

He woke once, briefly, to a gentle hand sliding his thumb out of his mouth and a kiss against his temple.

“Goodnight, sweet boy. I will see you tomorrow.”

Will mumbled a goodbye, or thought he did. He had sunk back under before he even realized what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My baby! I swear he wants this, y'all, he's just scared. 
> 
> I was trying to figure out why canon Hannibal would get into this, and I've decided there are probably a bunch of Littles out there now who are also budding serial killers. Hannibal likes to poke people and see what happens. He is happy even if the result isn't murder, but it's usually murder.
> 
> It's probably obvious, but Hannibal's sneaky manipulation drawing was of Will. As was the second one. He didn't actually use the glitter crayon, he just pretended to so the glitter would catch Will's eye. He knows all the Daddy tricks.
> 
> We got to see some of the awkward not-flirting! Hannibal has an interest, but is still viewing Will as a client right now. Will has an interest when he's not in a small headspace, but feels guilty about it because of his inherent self-shaming over hiring a sex worker. Because Will Graham hates himself. And has outdated ideas about sex work and kink.
> 
> In case anyone was wondering, I frequently forget that a) Will Graham has dogs, and b) dogs require potty breaks. oops. 
> 
> Also Will Graham 100% is a thumb sucker and Hannibal is one of those parents who goes 'eewwww geeeeerrrms.'


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to [Helterskelter, who is the only reason this got written. This chapter contains implied sexuality, but nothing explicit.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helterskelter/pseuds/helterskelter)

Will could not say he slept ‘well.’ The last time he’d slept ‘well’ he had been a child, a real child, small and secure in his own safety.

He still slept better than expected, though he woke in the middle of the night, disoriented, reaching for Hannibal. He’d rolled over and come face to face with the sippy cup, and, well, he’d been _very_ tired.

He woke several more times in the night, as he usually did. Come morning, the cup was bone-dry, and Will had his sweaty face pressed into the soft fur of the stuffed collie. Embarrassed, he shoved both things under his pillow and tried to go about his normal day.

Will was late coming home, tired and achy from his long, terrible day. Hannibal had left Will some leftovers, but he’d forgotten them at home, out of practice packing a lunch. Instead, he’d eaten a wilted-looking turkey sandwich from the Quantico cafeteria for lunch. As odd as it made him feel to admit it, he was looking forward to whatever Hannibal made for him tonight.

Hannibal’s car was already in the driveway, and he slid from it with a warm smile when he saw Will pull up. When he opened his arms, Will didn’t resist, letting himself fall into a warm, tight hug.

“Did you have a good day, sweet boy?”

“No,” Will groused.

Hannibal had cooked at home and then brought the food in a large ceramic dish that went straight into the oven before Will could see it. The food didn’t need long to heat up, so Will trailed Hannibal around the kitchen, helping to set the table (along with the sippy cup that Hannibal quickly washed for him) and then blushing thoroughly as Hannibal helped him to wash his hands again.

Will felt just a little bit clingy. Hannibal had only been with him for about five minutes. They hadn’t even really spoken. And yet Will could not pull himself from Hannibal’s shadow. In the end, Hannibal had to physically nudge him into his chair, giving him his collie and a cup full of juice ‘to keep him occupied.’

Will didn’t feel very occupied, but he kept the collie in his lap, even as he nudged the cup back to the center of the table.

What Hannibal had made was lasagna. Fancy lasagna, but still recognizably lasagna.

“I find my little ones appreciate comfort food more than they appreciate my personal tastes,” Hannibal explained as he cut Will’s portion into bite-sized pieces.

“I’d try your personal tastes,” Will said, because his ability to be either independent or calm had fled out the window sometime between ‘body with skin flayed from its back’ and ‘lecture from Jack about commitment and dependability.’ “I’m not picky.”

“Mostly,” Hannibal teased, taking up the seat next to Will and holding out a bite of lasagna. Will took it without thinking, swallowing so fast he barely tasted it.

“Mushrooms are disgusting,” Will explained. “That’s not my fault. Everyone knows it.”

“I assure you, Will, everyone does not.” Hannibal neatly cut himself a bite of his own lasagna and then offered Will another bite. This one, Will chewed unhappily.

“One time this guy was burying people alive to grow fungus off of them,” he explained. “There were all these huge mushrooms growing out of their flesh. One guy was still alive when we found him, but he didn’t make it.”

This was a terrible, stupid thing to say to someone like Hannibal, but he merely looked fascinated, as though he was itching to ask questions. Instead, he fed Will another bite. 

“I’ll take that into consideration the next time we go shopping,” he assured Will. “Perhaps work is not the best subject for the dinner table, though?”

Will nodded and opened his mouth again.

It took several more bites before Will’s brain caught up with his mouth. It happened mid-bite, just as he’d gone to swallow, and he ended up in Hannibal’s lap, a hand patting firmly at his back as he gagged and coughed.

Hannibal was too good at this, too practiced. He could slide right in under Will’s exhausted defenses and get him doing stupid things like this. Once he could breathe again, Will gave a disgruntled sigh and pressed his face against Hannibal’s shoulder.

“You play dirty,” he muttered.

“You do better when I don’t acknowledge your desires verbally.”

“I don’t want-“

“We could have a conversation about fibbing,” Hannibal suggested lightly, “Or we could finish our dinner and have dessert.”

“….What kind of dessert?”

Dessert turned out to be two tiny tartes, perfectly sized for each of them. Hannibal ate his with a knife and fork, but Will was allowed to pick his up and eat it by hand. They were perfect, wet without dripping, not too sweet. Will hadn’t craved raspberries in a long time, but now he thought he would dream of them.

After, Will was settled onto the blanket once more while Hannibal cleared away the dishes. He ignored the other toys, as he had the day before, but the crayons were alright. He’d used them before, with no mishaps or consequences, and they were more a puzzle than a toy, anyway.

Eventually, Hannibal joined him, and the soft scritching of the pencils he’d brought was a soothing accompaniment to Will’s fuzzy thoughts.

He’d been tricked yesterday, he knew that. Whatever else Will may have been, he was not _actually_ a child. It was telling that at no point in todays session did Hannibal reach for Will’s crayons; they were not his preferred medium, not by a long shot.

He still drew, though entirely in charcoal pencil. After a while, Will set aside his fish picture and just looked, watching the furrow of concentration in Hannibal’s brow. Hannibal, attentive as ever, gave him a beat or two to resume his work, and when he did not, he set his own pencil aside.

“Perhaps a different game,” Hannibal suggested. “Would you like to build with Daddy, instead?”

Pink-cheeked, Will shook his head. “What-“ he paused to clear his throat, “What are you drawing?”

Hannibal eyed him thoughtfully. “You first,” he said. “Tell me about _your_ picture.”

Will cast his own piece a doubtful look. “This, uh…” He slid the book closer to Hannibal, so he could properly ‘admire’ the slightly disjointed color palette and the way Will did not entirely stay in the lines, the sections far too tiny for the chubby point of his crayons. Hannibal, to Will’s dread, looked entirely appreciative. It never seemed faked, with Hannibal, like adults sometimes did when they politely feigned interest in children’s excitements. He always seemed to genuinely care, and that was almost worse.

“This is a fish,” Will finally said. “A, uh… a fish in the ocean.”

Hannibal nodded, as if Will was not saying some of the most mind-numbingly stupid things anyone had ever said. “Can you tell me any more about it?”

“It’s a fish,” Will said flatly. “It swims.”

Hannibal offered him a patient smile but didn’t push him. He always did that, little baby steps until Will was straining, and then a step back to let him breathe. Will guessed there were benefits to being a psychiatrist in this business.

Hannibal placed his sketchbook on the floor in front of Will. There, staring up at Will, was his own face, more relaxed than he’d ever seen it, his features lax, his eyes lidded. It was a near perfect representation, and Will blushed all the way to the roots of his hair.

For a long moment, nobody said anything. Then, Will swallowed thickly. “Tell me, uh, tell me about your picture.”

A gentle hand brushed a curl from Will’s face, tucking it back into the rest of the mop. “This is you,” Hannibal said, “before you fell asleep last night. Peaceful.”

“I didn’t look like _that_,” Will said, the denial automatic.

“Oh, I’m afraid you did,” Hannibal said with a smile. “Sweet and happy.”

Will had nothing to say to that. He ran his fingers gingerly over the edge of the page. “Can I keep this?” he found himself asking.

“Of course, sweet boy.”

They ended up hanging both pictures on the fridge, Will’s disastrous attempt at coloring side-by-side with Hannibal’s realistic portrait. Will’s gaze lingered on them as he was shepherded out into the living room for bed.

Or at least, to collect his clothing. Hannibal turned to him after, a gentle, soothing smile on his face. “Will,” he said gently. “You’ve had a very good day. I’d like to push your boundaries a little bit.”

Will but his lip, trying to imagine how they could possibly push anymore boundaries. Surely there were a thousand ways, but they all melded into one big, uncomfortable, don’t-think-about-it for Will.

But he’d already come this far. “Okay,” he whispered. “I mean, okay, Daddy.”

Hannibal cupped Will’s jaw with one hand, large enough to cradle his entire face and make his skin feel hot and too-tight, and then kissed his forehead. “Alright, little one. It’s time for a bath.”

Will was certain all the color drained from his face in a rather comical fashion, before immediately flooding it again until he was red-hot and close to bursting. Hannibal did not allow him any more time to consider it; he knew where Will’s bathroom was and shuffled him towards it while Will was still trying to set his face to rights.

“I don’t need a bath,” Will stammered, once they were sealed into the room.

“You’ve had a long day at work,” Hannibal said, fiddling with the tub. “You were unhappy when you came home, and tired. I think a bath is _just_ what you need.” Looking over his shoulder, he added, “Do you need Daddy’s help to get undressed?”

“No!” Will yelled, too loud in the tiny bathroom. He couldn’t imagine the embarrassment, Hannibal’s hands all over him, touching him, when Will already knew how his body reacted to Hannibal.

God, if he was hard when he got into this bathtub, he’d never forgive himself. He’d cancel the service; no refunds be damned.

A bath actually sounded nice. Will had a decent tub, one that was used so infrequently as to be pointless. But Will hadn’t dated in a long time. It had been a while since he kept up on… personal grooming habits. His chest had never grown much hair, but there was a small dusting around his nipples which he usually shaved away. And as for the everything below the navel…

Will tidied up for girlfriends. He _shaved_ for boyfriends. He hadn’t had one of either in a very long time.

When Hannibal turned, Will had only gotten as far as his shirt, and was hesitating with his belt half undone.

“Here,” Hannibal said, gently prying his hands away, “let Daddy help.”

“I’m not… I’m not exactly… _neat_,” Will whispered, blushing furiously.

“Would you like Daddy to help with that?” Hannibal asked, another too-sincere offer that cut at Will’s insecurities.

“No!” Will hissed. “No _thank you_, Daddy.”

He didn’t have a shaving kink, definitely not, but if Hannibal was touching him like that, _lingering_ over Will with those too-attentive eyes of his, Will would _die_.

“Alright. Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to-“

“You should look the way you want to look,” Hannibal said, matter-of-fact as he helped Will step out of his pants and underwear. “I don’t care how you look; I care that you are comfortable.”

Where the hell did they _find_ this man?

Hannibal didn’t seem to notice Will’s grooming habits at all, as he helped Will into the nearly-full tub. He’d done something to it, and now there were _bubbles_, in great, heaping piles. Will was half embarrassed, half relieved, as the bubbles hid him away.

To Will’s mingled humiliation and amusement, Hannibal set a rubber duck out onto one of the piles of bubbles. It bobbed there, smiling its blank plastic smile at Will, while Hannibal filled a plastic cup with water.

“Head back,” he said, guiding Will to look up at the ceiling.

Hannibal had gotten the temperature perfect. It soothed Will’s aching muscles, and the warmth through his hair made him feel comfortable and sleepy. Hannibal massaged a shampoo through Will’s hair that definitely wasn’t his own – it smelled only faintly of lavender, as opposed to the overwhelming and cheap ‘man smell’ of the first bottle Will walked past in the grocery store. Then something called a ‘cream rinse,’ which Hannibal worked through his curls and didn’t rinse out.

“We’ll let it sit for a few minutes while you play,” he explained.

Playing with a rubber duck was a little outside of Will’s comfort zone. He’d avoided Hannibal’s doll for a reason. Still, to please Hannibal, he gave it a little shove, sending it sailing through the bubbles. Hannibal pushed it back, and for a few minutes, they batted it across the tub like a tennis ball.

It was almost fun. In a ‘this is so weird, why are we doing something so ridiculous’ sort of way. It was, at the very least, amusing.

Will’s amusement went right out the window after Hannibal rinsed the cream rinse out of his hair.

The shampoo had been fine. Fun, even. Will liked the feeling of strong fingers massaging his scalp, and had been tempted to ask Hannibal to keep going.

Hannibal picking up a washcloth was terrifying.

“I can do that myself,” Will suggested meekly.

“I’m sure you can,” Hannibal agreed. He busied himself with Will’s face, his blushing cheeks, even behind his ears. Then down his neck, his shoulders. He washed each finger individual, and Will felt the horrifying first stirrings of pleasure.

The washcloth scratched over his nipples, the fine dusting of hair on his belly. Will reached out and snagged Hannibal’s arm when he began to venture further.

“Daddy, _please_,” he whispered, his face flooded with shame. He didn’t want Hannibal to know, to feel it.

Their eyes met. Will could see the calculating look Hannibal sometimes got, when he debated whether or not Will could take another push. Will didn’t know, himself. He never did. All he knew was the pounding of his heart, the rush of blood in his ears, the rush of blood _elsewhere._

Hannibal neatly skirted around the problem, washing Will’s legs, trailing down to his feet.

It turned out Will was ticklish, who knew?

After, when the water had drained and there was nothing left but suds, Hannibal politely averted his eyes as he wrapped Will in a towel. Will had softened, but only mostly, and he couldn’t meet Hannibal’s gaze as he was patiently dried off and helped into his sleep clothes. Hannibal wrung the worst of the water out from his curls, the rest left to air dry.

“Perhaps an earlier bath, next time, Hannibal said wryly, as he guided Will back to the living room.

This time, Will accepted the cup and the collie without a fuss, as fussing had yet to get him anywhere. Hannibal tucked him into his bed, pulling the chair close.

“How are we feeling?” Hannibal asked him softly. Will shrugged.

“Sleepy,” he murmured, surprised with himself. “More relaxed than I’ve felt in a while.”

“Perhaps we’ll make baths part of our regular routine, then?”

Will shrugged. As long as Hannibal didn’t touch him between his legs, it should be fine.

Hannibal settled in to read the book. Will closed his eyes, sighing. It was such a simple routine. Dinner-color-bath-bed. Easy. Relaxing.

He was half asleep when Hannibal crouched beside the bed. “I won’t be here tomorrow,” he whispered softly, “but you’ll call me if you need me, won’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Will mumbled. Hannibal leaned in to kiss his cheek, Will tilted his head to accept it.

For a second, just a second, Hannibal’s lips grazed the corner of Will’s mouth. After a moment, he tilted, gripping Will by the chin and planting a chaste, but more solid kiss to Will’s lips. Will laid there, frozen, neither kissing back nor pulling away.

When Hannibal pulled back, it was with a soft, comforting smile. “I’ll see you Friday,” he said softly.

Will laid awake long after the Bentley pulled out of the drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter gets a bit steamy, folks, please proceed with caution. Whenever it gets here. There will be warnings!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter is where things get sexual. A summary will be in the end notes, so that you can see if you are comfortable reading it first or skip the chapter entirely if you'd prefer.

Hannibal haunted him.

It seemed ridiculous after only two days together, two long, complicated days. But he was all Will could think about. His presence seemed to have saturated Will’s life, whether it be through the glass leftover containers Will brought to work, or how soft Will’s hair was when he tugged at a lock while thinking.

Work was long, unbearably so. Coming home was worse.

For the first time that week, Will came home to an empty house. Just him, and the dogs, the way it had always been. The way it was _supposed_ to be. And yet now, the emptiness had an echo.

Hannibal had texted him twice. Once in the morning, to remind Will to bring lunch to work, and once an hour before, reminding Will that he had plenty of leftovers to heat up for dinner, and did not need to resort to cheap pasta and powdered cheese substitutes.

Will had gone as far as dragging the box down out of spite before he’d caved and gone for the lasagna.

It just felt odd to let someone else guide his actions, even when he was alone. Like something he should be fighting against. Warring for his independence, or whatever.

Will ate mostly-reheated lasagna with his eyes locked on the laminated papers on his fridge. Rules. Punishments.

There was, along with his slowly dwindling need for independence, a flicker of concern. Of guilt. Will had written entire thesis on people whose partners gave them _rules_ to follow. All of those people were dead, at the hands of those partners.

Will understood, of course, that the difference between himself and those people was consent, was the ability to _choose_, and to stop the ride whenever he wanted to get off. But it still twinged that bit of guilt and shame inside him.

And certainly, anyone who saw the lists might make the same connection. Not everyone was well-informed about Risk-Aware-Consensual-Kink. Some, especially those who worked in the same field as Will, would see the sheets as a giant red flag.

Or worse, they’d know _exactly_ what was going on, and Will would never hear the end of it.

Never mind that Will didn’t ever have guests. Never mind that Will didn’t even have _friends._ Will’s face was red and hot as he pulled the laminated sheets down off the fridge, as well as the drawings Hannibal had left, and shoved them into his junk drawer. Batteries rattled loudly from the force as he slammed the drawer shut.

There. Now he didn’t have to think about it. The cup and the dog had been shoved into the closet, and Hannibal had taken everything else with him. Will could have a peaceful night, unhindered by Hannibal’s presence.

Except he didn’t.

Despite his best efforts, Will couldn’t let it go. His mind was elsewhere; tucked into the drawer with a list of reasons for Hannibal to lay hands on him. Lingering in yesterday, retracing Hannibal’s damp, soapy path across his body.

Hannibal was an attractive man. It was simply one of those things, objectively true regardless of how Will felt about it. And their experiences together were intimate. It was, Will told himself, completely normal to have a crush on the handsome sex worker who bathed you. Hannibal probably dealt with it all the time.

Definitely did. He’d put it on the rules list—Don’t touch yourself without Daddy’s permission.

Will laid awake that night, staring at the ceiling. _Not_ thinking about Hannibal. _Not_ thinking of his big hands. Of the soft press of his lips against Will’s.

_____

_Hannibal burned through him. Through Will’s veins, under his skin. Will know what those hands would feel like, parting his thighs. Those lips against his jaw, his chest. Teeth around a nipple, tugging until Will arched and panted. _

_“Daddy, Daddy **please**.”_

_It would feel so good. So safe and secure. Will would throw his head back and drift by on waves of pleasure as thick fingers slicked him up, readied him for what was to come._

_Hannibal, over him and in him, ebbing and flowing, the ocean coming to surge within Will and then recede with the tide. _

_“I want-“ Will’s teeth in his own lower lip, holding back cries and pleas, until Hannibal brushed his thumb against Will’s mouth and pulled the lip free._

_“Let me hear you,” he’d say, and he’d sound so rough, voice gravelly and low with want, Will could picture it, and it surged in his belly, burned him through, oh god, oh—_

_______

Will woke sweaty, gasping. He rolled onto his side to face the blinking alarm clock—4:37 AM – and curled up around the fire in his belly.

God, he was an idiot, a hopeless, reckless idiot. But it was too late to pretend that the dream hadn’t happened, and the ache would not go away on his own. Will closed his eyes and sank his teeth into his lip, reaching down into his boxers to wrap a hand around his swollen cock.

Hannibal, Will knew, would touch him like an expert. Efficient. Affectionate. Perfect. Will fucked hurriedly into his fist, racing the surge of shame to the finish line.

There was no moment of relief, afterwards. Will laid there with a sticky hand and a guilty conscience.

Yes, Hannibal was technically a sex worker. Yes, sexual intimacy had been written into their contract. But Will still felt guilty, as though he’d somehow done something to Hannibal without his consent. Hannibal had signed on to take care of Will, not to be the latest in a long line of ill-conceived, borderline-obsessive attachments.

Will showered until his skin was raw, and he felt just a little bit less like some kind of pervert. Two weeks. Less than, now. He just had to get through two weeks, and then he never had to see Hannibal again. It was the responsible thing to do, to put this crush away before it got any worse.

The thought of ending their arrangement filled Will’s stomach with dread, but it was the good sort of dread. Sure, he was a lot happier with Hannibal around than without, but he knew he was doing the right thing, and that bolstered Will throughout his day.

It wasn’t until he stepped out of the car in Wolf Trap and found Hannibal already waiting that everything caught up to Will. Hannibal stood on the porch, seeming so tall and broad, holding a cooler in his big hands. Those big hands that Will had imagined caressing him so fondly while he touched himself.

Will tripped over his own two feet, skidding to a halt at the bottom step, his face tomato red.

Hannibal tilted his head. The beginnings of a smile pulled at his face, and Will had the sudden, completely irrational thought that he _knew_.

It was impossible for Hannibal to know anything that happened when he wasn’t around, of course, but Will suddenly believed it with absolute certainty. Will had masturbated to thoughts of Hannibal only hours before, and Hannibal _knew_.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Will swallowed around the thick lump in his throat. “Hello, Daddy.”

Hannibal looked at him expectantly, holding out a (_bigwarmstrong_) hand. Will took it, hopping up the few steps to the porch. It earned him a hug, one that made him flush again, ducking his face against the shoulder of Hannibal’s suit to hide his embarrassment.

“How was your day?” Hannibal asked.

Will shrugged, turning to busy himself with the door. The dogs came streaming out, greeting Hannibal with a polite excitement that he rewarded generously. “Same-old, same-old,” Will mumbled. “I spoke, they listened. Nothing exciting.”

When he looked back, Hannibal looked doubtful, but he didn’t push. He helped Will herd the dogs into the living room, and made no comment when Will dragged the cup and collie out of the closet and dropped them haphazardly onto the couch.

“I don’t need these right now,” Will said, awkward. “I just thought maybe… We should… you would want to know where they were.”

Hannibal nodded, and then held up the cooler again. “Dinner?”

“Can I help?”

“You may set the table.”

Dinner was pork loin, rich and dripping with flavor, roasted potatoes, and small helpings of asparagus. Will noted that the sauce Hannibal drizzled over each serving was different—Hannibal’s own held small, grey chunks.

“Mushrooms,” Hannibal said when he caught Will staring. “Yours was cooked separately.”

Will nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. For all his strictness, Hannibal had listened.

Will’s own loin had been carefully cut up for him, already, but Will snatched up the fork before Hannibal could grab it, staring him down.

“You can do it,” Hannibal encouraged. “If you’re feeling like a big boy today.”

“I _am_ a big boy,” Will insisted, and then felt his cheeks go hot. “I-I mean-!”

Hannibal didn’t laugh at him, thankfully, merely gestured towards the plate. Will shoved a bite in his mouth before he could say anything else stupid.

The problem with Hannibal’s food being so delicious was that there was little room for anything else. Will wanted to talk to Hannibal, but not as much as he wanted to put another bite in his mouth. Ten minutes passed before Will felt satisfied enough to peek up at Hannibal.

Hannibal’s eyes were over Will’s shoulder, his lips drawn into a frown. When he saw he had Will’s attention, he raised an eyebrow. “Will,” he said slowly, “where are your rules?”

Will glanced back at the blank fridge. “Oh.” He said. “Oh! Right.” He got up from the table, freeing the papers from the junk drawer. One of them had an ominous stain smearing the corner. Will brushed it off as best as he could before securing them back to the fridge.

When he sat down, Hannibal was giving him that calculating look again. It was the ‘I’m about to push you, and you’re going to turn out to like it’ look. Will hesitated with his fork halfway to his mouth.

“Finish your dinner,” Hannibal said.

Of course, now that Will’s attention had been caught, now that he was certain Hannibal was plotting, finishing his dinner was far easier said than done. What had been savory and delicious was now heavy and thick on Will’s tongue. He swallowed without tasting, glancing from his plate to Hannibal’s placid expression.

When Will was finished, Hannibal took the plates, setting a hand to Will’s shoulder when he tried to rise.

“Stay there for a moment,” Hannibal said. Will froze solid.

Hannibal took his time cleaning up, while Will’s shoulders inched ever-closer to his ears. Finally, Hannibal settled back into his seat, hands clasped together atop the table. He raised an eyebrow.

“You didn’t say I couldn’t!” Will blurted out, before Hannibal could say a word.

Hannibal hummed, noncommittal. “Were you under the impression that I _didn’t_ want the papers hung there?”

“No,” Will admitted.

“Did you know before you took them down that I would disapprove?”

Will stared down at the table top, scuffing his socked foot against the floor. “Yeah,” he finally whispered.

“It’s true I didn’t expressly forbid you from taking the rules down. It’s also true that I have no control over what you do when I’m not here. But I did say that I expected good behavior from my little ones, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Will mumbled morosely, cheeks flushed red. Somewhere, deep inside him, he’d known. Even while putting the sheets away, he’d told himself that he better not forget to put them back.

For a brief second, Will wondered if, subconsciously, he’d _wanted_ to forget. To see what would happen. For a single, impossibly brief moment, Will wondered just how far Hannibal could be pushed.

“And it would shake your confidence in me if I failed to punish behavior you expected to be punished for.”

Will looked up. He was not _pouting_, he hadn’t done that in years, but his face seemed to have twisted into a frown against his will. Hannibal was looking at him with that same knowing smile from earlier.

“Is there something else you’d like to tell me, Will? Before we begin?”

“No?” Will said.

Hannibal sighed, but he didn’t sound as exasperated as Will might have expected him to. “Perhaps I haven’t mentioned it before, but I have an unusually keen sense of smell.”

Will felt like the floor had dropped out from under him.

It wasn’t the semi-pleasant rush he felt when Hannibal chided him, that moment akin to the top peak of a roller coaster. No, this was a shameful, nauseating drop.

Because Hannibal _knew_.

Will had neglected to change the sheets, and Hannibal could _smell_ what he’d been up to.

“What was my rule about masturbation, Will?”

Hannibal may as well have been speaking to a wall. Will’s entire body had stiffened up. Hannibal _knew_. He knew, and soon he would know how attached Will had gotten, how _obsessive_ after only a few hours together. He would know that there was something broken in Will, to see this man so willing to take care of him, treat him like a child, and to get _off_ on it.

He didn’t, not really, it wasn’t the childishness that built a heat in Will. But the care, the coddling, that sank deep under his skin. Safety made him feel attached, and Hannibal was so beautiful, and wasn’t that all more-or-less the same thing, anyway?

“Will.”

Hannibal crouched before Will’s chair, taking Will’s hands in his own. Will realized his breath was coming in short, shaky gasps.

“Whatever it is, we will handle it together. You don’t have to deal with it on your own.”

“There’s something _wrong_ with me,” Will whispered.

“There isn’t,” Hannibal promised. “You are exactly who you should be.”

Will shook his head, but arguments failed him. His mouth was dry.

“The only issue here, Will, is disobedience. There’s nothing wrong with feeling sexual arousal over our situation. Despite the roles we play, we are both adults here.”

“But—” Will wanted to disagree, to insist, but what Hannibal was saying made so much _sense_. It shouldn’t have, there was a counterpoint to be made somewhere, if Will could just find it.

But then Hannibal was pulling at him, tugging Will down until they were both sat on the floor, Will cradled safely in Hannibal’s lap.

“You aren’t the first,” Hannibal told him, tucking Will’s face against his shoulder. “You won’t be the last. Human sexuality is complicated, Will. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“It feels like there is,” Will mumbled.”

“We are our own worst critics,” Hannibal said. “But I expected this of you from the beginning. I was prepared to deal with it.” Hannibal paused for a moment, then added, “Do you believe there’s something wrong with _me_?”

“No!” Will yelped.

“But on occasion, I too feel arousal after a session. I enjoy discipline, and I enjoy praising and comforting a partner. Sometimes that enjoyment is also sexual. Is there something wrong with me?”

Will bit his lip and shook his head.

“Then there’s nothing wrong with _you_,” Hannibal said again. “Except for a deliberate naughtiness that I confess I’m fond of.”

Will flushed pink, burrowing further into the safety of Hannibal’s neck. Hannibal rubbed his back gently.

“If you need to discuss things in more detail, we can sit at the table as adults,” he said, guiding Will with a soft hand in his curls until Will’s head was tilted up to look at him. “Or, you can let Daddy take over. We’ll deal with this my way, and then we can have our play time.”

Will licked his lips. He still felt slightly twisted, slightly wrong, but all his concerns were oozing out of him with every touch of Hannibal’s hands. It was impossible to feel resentful when he was being offered everything he wanted on a silver platter.

“Daddy’s way. Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Detailed WARNINGS: In this chapter, Will kinkshames himself about his interest in ageplay. He then has a sex dream about Hannibal (featuring some mild Daddy kink), wakes up, and masturbates to completion (while kinkshaming himself some more). Later, Hannibal confronts him, knowing he's broken the rule about masturbation, and Will has a minor breakdown while Hannibal assures him there's nothing wrong with him. They agree to let Hannibal dictate the punishment for the masturbation (and for taking down the list of rules while Hannibal was gone). The chapter ends before we find out what the punishment will be. 
> 
> There are a few reasons for the delay. The first is that Real Life got in the way- the pandemic, mental health, work, real life hurdles. All of that delayed this by quite a bit.
> 
> The second is that I made the (both brilliant and completely stupid) decision to not update ANY of my WIPs until I could update ALL of them, as a way to urge me to finish chapters of other fics I was struggling with. Which meant that this chapter was finished probably two months ago and then held in limbo while I worked on Choices (and if you read choices, you'll know EXACTLY why it took so long in the recent chapter). 
> 
> Guys, please don't leave comments asking when I'm going to update or if this fic is abandoned. I promise, if I ever abandon this fic, I'll let you know. The last time I was asked if a fic was abandoned, I had updated only two weeks previously. The last time someone asked me when the next update would be, it was the DAY AFTER I'd updated. 
> 
> As for comments about how long it is between updates... trust me, I already know how long it's been, and I'm not any happier about it than you are. when every comment is about how long it's been, a) it's discouraging and b) it only adds to my guilt and makes it harder to write. I know it's been a while. I _know._ If you can't wait for updates and you decide not to read the fic anymore, I completely understand! But I really, really would like it if you would stop commenting on my update schedule. Several times I opened the docs only to close them again because I was so disheartened and didn't want to post because I didn't want to read so many comments about how long it had been. I'm so happy you love this story and want more of it, but please don't do that.

**Author's Note:**

> This was spawned from long conversations on twitter, where I started doing 'Ageplay thoughts of the day.' The ideas got more attention than I was expecting, especially the idea of being able to order a Daddy online. 
> 
> I'm not sure yet on the level of sexual content you can expect, other than 'some.' Nor am I sure of just how much ageplay is going to cross over into that sexual content, although that is probably 'less.'
> 
> Poor Will. He desperately needs someone to care for him, but Hannibal is in for a hell of a challenge trying.
> 
> This is written for fun and updates on a whim, because it's my relaxing fic.


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